Editor’s Note: Twelve years have passed since this story was first published, but it still captures the raw edge of combat aviation and the bond between elite soldiers and the “Night Stalkers” of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR). Isaiah Burkhart’s account remains a vivid reminder of what it feels like to ride into combat on the skids of an MH-6 Little Bird—cold wind cutting through gear, lanyards holding life in place, and trust in the pilots who never fail to deliver their warriors to the fight. We republish his words today to honor both the mission and the men who lived it.
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When I went to my first rotary wing training exercise with the 160th SOAR, all I wanted to do was ride on a Little Bird (MH-6). The Little Bird is not the US military’s fastest helicopter, but it sure is the most maneuverable. I remember standing in awe watching the best pilots in the military conduct precision rooftop lip landings and racetrack fast-rope training.
As snipers, our section regularly worked with the MH-6s in training, but not as often on overseas deployments. It still amazes me where those small little aircraft can land. Fortunately, while I was in the section, the 3rd Battalion snipers fashioned a very good working/training relationship with our Tier 1 friends. While my team was in Baghdad, we ran a number of missions with these high-level warriors.
On one particular mission, I remember sitting in the mission briefing and being told that we would be infiltrating the target by MH-6. Two two-man sniper teams would be overwatching and covering the main assaulting element. I had ridden on a Little Bird many times in the past, but the flights were always less than 20 minutes and during warmer months. This time it happened during the winter months, with temperatures in the 30s, and the flight was over 45 minutes.
As we flew to our objective, my lanyard stretched to what felt like its maximum tolerance, and all I could think was “I am going to fly off the back of the F–#$%@ helicopter.” Because of the wind catching my night vision goggles, my neck felt like someone had beaten it with a baseball bat. There were only two guys on each side, but I was at the back of the two on my side and was slowly getting pushed further and further towards the back of the pod.
Even during the colder months in Iraq, I always wore minimal clothing so I wouldn’t get overheated while moving to or around the objective. Like all the other times, I decided not to wear any extra ‘snivel’ and definitely underestimated the chill of 115 mph wind piercing through my issued clothing.
By the time we landed, I had slid down far enough that I was only sitting on one ass cheek for the last 20 minutes of the flight.
Thank God for those lanyards.
I will never forget the sense of relief I felt when we finally landed at our target. Unfortunately, I forgot about the return flight, and once again… No S— There I Was: Hanging by a Cheek.
Originally published May 2013 by Isaiah Burkhart, a former 3/75 Ranger sniper with over 11 years of service.
